I am Johnlocked
by JennaBA
Summary: John is lost without Sherlock, but what happens when John finds a letter addressed to him from Sherlock? Sherlock had never meant for John to read it, or even find it. Sherlock said he was going to destroy it, but if he was, why did John find it? XJohnlockX. Other important character: Karl. Might change ratings to M soon. Romance, angst, mystery,
1. Chapter 1

John grasped his bag of groceries as he unlocked the door titled 221 B slowly. He took in a deep breath and pushed it open.

He glanced around the hallway, loving how familiar it was but hating every moment of being in it. It made him think of Sherlock; his silver eyes, his black curly hair, how tall he was. It was the very thing that had kept John away from the flat for so long.

_Sherlock is dead. He is no longer alive. I have to move on._ John hadn't been at the flat since Sherlock's suicide.

"It's been more than six damn months!" John blurted in frustration.

"John?" Mrs. Hudson called from down the hall.

"Mrs. Hudson." John said, instantly calm as she came to him.

"I was wondering when I would see you again!" She said as she offered her arms for a hug.

"I just needed… some time." John said as he hugged her.

"I removed all the food from the kitchen. That's all I have touched. No cleaning at all. I haven't been able to go in myself without getting teary." She said as she pulled away from the hug.

"Alright. As for the rent-"

"There's no need to pay for it. It's been so long after all. Anyway you haven't even been living in it."

"Thank you." John sighed with relief. He didn't want to consult Harry or Mycroft. Mycroft has been terribly guilty of what he did, so he's been giving John money for a hotel since his pension was so small.

"I wonder how Sherlock done it." Mrs. Hudson's voice cracked slightly at the end of her sentence.

"Done what?" John replied curiously.

"If he was really a… a fake, then how could he ensure my late husband's execution?" She pulled out a tissue from her pocket and whipped her eyes.

John hesitated. "I don't believe he was a fake."

Mrs. Hudson looked at him as if he was a little boy that had fallen down and scraped his knee. "John he fooled us all."

"You're being brainwashed by the news." John said as he started up the stairs again.

"He even told you John. He was talking to you right before…" She cut herself off.

They remained quiet for a moment.

"I'll make us some tea." She said quietly.

John looked up the stairs and took a deep breath, then started towards the room. Mrs. Hudson walked away to make the tea.

When John came to the door, he fumbled at it for a moment. He was trying to decide whether he should go in or not. This flat was were Sherlock spent most of his time. John used to walk in and see him doing things that any other person would think was crazy. But John knew Sherlock. John loved what Sherlock did, even though it frustrated him at times.

John inhaled sharply as he pushed the door open and took in the smell of the room.

_It's just like Sherlock._ John thought as he stumbled against the door frame. He took in the room and how there were still things scattered on Sherlock's desk. John felt hate instantly spread through him as he spotted Moriarty's picture on the edge of the desk.

John turned his attention to Sherlock's violin that sat on his chair. He missed Sherlock's songs he composed. It didn't look right, covered in dust like that.

He walked slowly into the kitchen. The room was covered with filthy experiments he was working on, thankfully none of which had to do with human body parts.

John put down his groceries and walked to Sherlock's bedroom, of which he was never allowed in for any reason.

He found it considerably cleaner than the rest of the flat. It didn't have any dirty clothes.

John sat down at the end of the bed. He heard paper crumble beneath him, and reached down to under the mattress. He pulled out a crumbled piece of paper. John spread it out and looked at the page. It was covered in Sherlock's writing, so John read it.

_John,_

_I know you'll never read this. If I really did tell you what was happening, it could put you in danger. I'll explain, although I'll get rid of this later…_

John paused. He wasn't supposed to read this. John so badly wanted to read it, especially since Sherlock is dead. _Did Sherlock plan on suici-_… he shoved that thought away. _Did I do something to make him…_ He burst into tears and curled into a ball on Sherlock's bed.

His mind wandered to memories of Sherlock. John breathed in Sherlock's fluffy blanket and wrapped it around himself.

He thought of when Sherlock was being stubborn and went to Buckingham Palace in nothing but his bed sheet. John giggled through his sobbing, remembering how often Sherlock did ridiculous things like that.

"John?" Mrs. Hudson called from downstairs.

John quickly stood up, wiped his eyes and limped back into the kitchen as quick as he could.

"Yes?" John called back as he put his groceries away.

She came into the room with the tea and looked around.

"Ah…" John said as he gestured to an open space on the small table. "You can place it there."

She put it down and poured tea into the two teacups and passed one to John. They sat on the chairs by the table and sipped at their tea.

"That skull…" Mrs. Hudson tsked at it. "I can't believe how he'd always talk to it about you. I wish he'd talk to me instead."

John looked up sharply. "What?"

Mrs. Hudson looked at him. "Well, whenever you weren't here and he finished a case, I would hear him talking about you. Once I came up and opened the door to see him staring at it and talking to it about you like he was a little girl with a crush." She giggled lightly to herself.

John stared at her blankly. He couldn't wrap his head around what she just said.

"Huh?"

She looked back at her tea. "The reason I said all those things about you two dating and such was because he seemed to like you, going by the way he talked to his skull. I've become such a big fan of the idea of you two ever since I've first seen you two together."

John looked at his tea now as he recalled when Mrs. Hudson suggested that they were a couple when they first moved in.

"John,"she looked at him carefully. "How did you feel towards him?"

"I see him as a friend. Just a friend." John lied.

Mrs. Hudson took his empty tea cup and walked back to the kitchen. "Well I'm going to go back to my room. If you need anything, tell me."

John watched as she left the room.

He stood up and walked straight into Sherlock's bedroom, grabbed the paper again and sat down on the bed.

_John,_

_I know you'll never read this. If I really did tell you what was happening, it could put you in danger. I'll explain, although I'll get rid of this later._

_Moriarty was evil. I did not create him. He knew me too well. He's the one that sponsored the taxi cab driver and he also helped the drug smugglers._

_The day my suicide happened, I texted Moriarty to go to the top of St. Bart's. I "did not know" that that was where I would die._

_He told me to commit suicide. I would die as a disgrace._

_I said no, but he told me that all of my friends would die if I didn't jump. My first thought was you. Moriarty also planned for Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson._

_I found a way to keep us all alive, but it was only going to work if I told Moriarty that I was like him. I did it, but then he said "As long as I'm alive". Then he pulled out a gun and shot himself._

_I knew what I had to do. I had to jump. Beforehand I had told Molly that I might have to die, and so she helped nurse me to health inside. I knew how to jump so I could have a more likely chance of staying alive. We faked my death. I am alive._

_I need to find and kill everyone that has worked with Moriarty. I don't know how long it will take._

_I wish I can really tell you, but it's too dangerous. I don't want you hurt. I love you John. You are the best thing that's ever happened to me. I wish you were more than my friend. It makes me angry whenever you have girlfriends or dates._

_Please no more dates. It pains me to see you out with girls. I'm watching you to make sure you're alright. Mycroft planted cameras for me in your hotel room. I have cameras in our flat as well, so if you return I will know._

_I'm sorry John. I love you. I will return one day. Don't be too mad when I do._

_I'll dispose of this now._

_Sherlock Holmes._

John stared at the paper. _Sherlock… is… alive?_ John wrapped the blanket around him. He knew he was in shock. _Sherlock loves me?_

John laid back and looked at the ceiling.

He sobbed, rolled himself into a ball and grasped his knees tightly.

* * *

He must have been crying for hours before he saw him.

Sherlock stood at the door looking down at John with sad silver eyes. It broke John to see him like this. John sat up and looked at him curiously.

"Sher-" John said with a voice crack and he cleared his throat. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked down at his hands and fumbled with them for a moment.

* * *

John sat up quickly and looked around the room for Sherlock. It was a dream. John stood up, and he knew that it must have all been a dream. Especially the part when he read the letter.

But he didn't notice a piece of paper fall to the ground as he left the room.

* * *

So here's my very first Johnlock fanfiction! I hope that it isn't ooc.

Please review, and if you like it, follow the story (or me? :D)! In your review, tell me if you'd like any lemon in it. Majority might affect if it has lemon or not. You don't have to decide now, but you can later, when the story is more... what's the word? written? haha :P well tell me any errors, don't be shy. Tell me something you like and/or dislike in your review?

Feel free to private message me too! :D

See you guys next chapter!


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks everyone for the follows and stuff! Sorry it's short and that it's been so long. I'll try to post more often.

So a note: In this story, there is a flashback that John thinks of. I'm going to use these { bracket things } in _italic_ to show this.

John sighed as he sat down on the couch. He had just finished moving back in, which wasn't very much effort. John hasn't planned on staying away from the flat for this long of a time, but the thought of returning without Sherlock made him feel like he was receiving a punch in the gut although he was basically dead inside anyway.

He could not function as well without Sherlock. Whenever he saw articles about serial killer cases that the police could not solve, he thought about Sherlock; how he would be jumping about, hugging John happily. Whenever John was bored he thought about what Sherlock would be doing that very moment; shooting the wall, yelling at people on TV shows because they think ordinarily and also seems to think just because he knew what was going to happen, that it was so obvious that he could talk to John about it and ruin the show for him. "It's logic for any movie, John." He would say as John would turn off the TV. Whenever John was not thinking straight, he would think about how Sherlock would help himself think; playing the violin beautifully, talking to skulls and not Mrs. Hudson… John shook his head after that thought every time.

After the cops were done with looking over every single thing in the flat, and were 100 per cent sure that there was no further evidence in it (and thankfully drug free thanks to John's presence) they left everything in the room, almost as identically as it was left.

Lestrade of course was not personally involved in the investigation of the flat. He would not search Sherlock's flat since he was such a good friend of Sherlock's, whether Sherlock had admitted it or not.

There's hope. There must be hope in this god forsaken world. But then again Sherlock was his hope. Sherlock was John's everything, and now he has nothing. Nothing is not very much to go off of. All John wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry over Sherlock's death for the rest of his life. A life without Sherlock was not one worth living, in John's eyes. John had thought about suicide, but Sherlock would not be happy with him.

John rubbed his eyes before walking to his room, which is Sherlock's old room, to get some sleep. John laid across the bed on his back and breathed in deeply.

The room had a special smell about it. It was Sherlock's. He wished that he had the chance to tell Sherlock how he really felt. But then again, Sherlock had turned him down before.

_{"What do real people have then in their real lives?" Sherlock asked John._

"_Friends. Or people they know, people they like, people they don't like." John said. "Girlfriends, boyfriends."_

"_As I was saying, dull."_

"_You don't have a girlfriend then?"_

"_Girlfriend? No, not really my area."_

_John nodded, and started to look away, but then looked back at him, somewhat startled._

"_Alright…" John said. "Do you have a boyfriend? Which is fine, by the way."_

"_I know it's fine." Sherlock looked at him._

_John smiled a little. "So you've got a boyfriend?"_

"_No."_

"_Right, okay." John licked his lips quickly. "You're unattached, like me. Fine." John cleared his throat. He was feeling awkward. "Good." Sherlock looked back out the window._

_After a moment of silence, Sherlock had clued in and looked back at John. "John, uh, I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, I'm flattered by your, I'm really not looking for anything…"_

"_No," John started interrupting. "No."_

_Sherlock stopped talking._

"_No, I'm not asking, no, I'm just saying it's all fine."_

_Sherlock nodded. "Good." He looked out the window again. "Thank you."}_

John hit the back of his head against the bed lightly. _Why was I such an idiot? I wasn't even aware of my feelings and I made myself seem like I was interested._ Not that John wasn't interested in him; but at the time he wasn't. He made himself seem very loyal to him already, like Mycroft had thought.

"Idiot. Idiot." John mumbled to himself.

* * *

"John?" Lestrade's voice came from behind John.

John was walking back from St. Bart's, and Lestrade and John sometimes crossed paths.

John turned and shook hands with him. "It's nice to see you." He said.

And it was nice to see him, another familiar face that was Sherlock's friend. He wasn't there when Sherlock… Well, you know, but he didn't believe any of this. John knew Sherlock had to have lied to him, for some reason. Sherlock couldn't have pretended to be as smart as he was. It was an insane thing to do. But then again, Sherlock was pretty mad.

They found themselves going to a pub and talking over a few drinks. The first subject was John's mustache, of which John had grown because he had become too damn lazy, and could care less, especially since Sherlock was not around anymore.

"How have you been?" Lestrade asked him, but he already knew the answer. He wasn't Sherlock, but he was smart. He knew how John was still grieving.

"I've been alright. This bad shoulder is becoming a pain though."

"Why hasn't it affected you until now?" Lestrade asked curiously.

John hesitated. "It gets better with stress. I was a military doctor. I had seen so many things. I strive for more dangerous situations. When Sherlock was around, it was dangerous, more stressful. It went away. At least until he…" John cut off his sentence, feeling a lump rise in his throat, and coughed. "Sherlock and Mycroft figured that one out for me."

"Ah, no wonder you got along with Sherlock so well." Lestrade laughed.

John laughed too, shaking his head. He felt it was a compliment. From someone like Anderson, he would have probably punched him in the face repeatedly.

"Sherlock was a mad bastard." Lestrade said with a smile.

"That, he was." John smiled.

They continued talking over their beers, and eventually they said their goodbyes, and left for their flats.

When John got back into the flat, he laid himself down on the couch.

In his drunken state, he reminisced on his memories. Not just of Sherlock, but all his moments leading up to now.

He remembered his dream, the one when he found a letter in Sherlock's mattress.

John stood, unsure of why he would do this, especially drunk. But he still walked to the room and searched the room.

When he found a piece of paper, he couldn't even look at it. He broke into sobs, not loud, but not necessarily quiet ones.

And he knew. He knew that it was no dream. Even drunk, he knew that it took every inch of Sherlock to be able to admit to John that he loved him. Even if Sherlock had meant to destroy it, it did take all he had.

But then John wondered, why would Sherlock intend to do something, but not do it? Did that bastard Moriarty find a way to resurrect himself from the dead and do something to Sherlock? Or did Moriarty have minions? People just as crazy as him, but less powerful, following him around like he was god?

That must be impossible.

Unless Moriarty had done exactly as Sherlock had done; fake his death. This scared and angered John at the same time. Nobody is, was or will ever be as brilliant as Sherlock is. It's impossible.

John felt the internal struggle tearing him apart. Frustrated, he took one deep breath and reread the whole letter again. And then read the three words that stunned him the most, over, and over, and over again. 'I love you, John' it said, and Sherlock had wrote it twice in the letter. TWICE.

John was not sure why he was so sad. He should be happy that Sherlock is alive and loves him. Maybe it was because of wasted time. He had hurt Sherlock by going out with women. John hadn't liked many of the girls. He had always went out with the girls because he was denying that was either interested in guys or because Sherlock shot him down at the very beginning.

* * *

Sherlock pointed his gun at the man.

"Oh come on, you know that this is a real gun. So you must know what happens when I pull the trigger..." He was about to demonstrate it for him, when the man yelled "Wait!"

Sherlock removed his finger from the trigger, and lowered the gun a little. He raised his eyebrows impatiently.

"There's not a new leader!" He said as he lowered his head in defeat.

"Really?" Sherlock said as he turned the safety on the gun off.

"Yes! We are all just watching you; no one is giving orders to us. We know when something happens! We have cameras on you at all times." The man sweated a little.

Sherlock grinned. "You are lying to me. You must be. Either that or every person in your group of Jimbos is lying."

The man raised his brows slightly, instantly knowing why he had called them Jimbos. That's what John referred to people that were his enemies. This only started immediately after Jim and Sherlock first met.

"You've been tracking John." Sherlock noted.

"Of course we have. He's the reason for your 'suicide'. If it hadn't been for him, Jim wouldn't have died. You figured it out." He snickered now. "Well partially."

"Hmm? What have I not figured out?"

"You see, there is no _new_ leader. Jim and he were partnered up almost the whole duration."

"Ah, so you technically weren't lying." Sherlock said as he held the gun towards the man's again.

"What do you take me for, a fool?" He laughed. "I'm not like the others, not like the ones you've killed in the past."

"Oh really? Prove it. Prove you're above them all." Sherlock grinned coldly.

"The current leader's name is Karl. He doesn't use his last name, at all. Only people that would know it, would most likely be Moriarty and John." He smiled now, enjoying Sherlock's startled expression.

"John? Why would he know?" Sherlock asked. He was very confused.

"John and Karl were best friends since childhood. When they were 17 or 18, Karl asked John out. Only John turned him down, claimed that he was straight. John didn't talk to him afterwards. Karl accepted it. Moriarty came to Karl and he joined us. A year later, John met you." The man chuckled. "Of course, Karl at first wanted to back out, but then when we found John's feelings for you, Karl was furious. So he stayed and we changed aim slightly. Hurting John = Hurting Sherlock. It's just that simple."

"John doesn't have feelings towards me." Sherlock said.

The man scoffed. "You aren't good with knowing people's feelings Sherlock. That's the one thing you haven't mastered."

"I can tell you something you haven't mastered." Sherlock said as he took aim to the man's eye.

"What?"

"Knowing the difference between tricks and sincerity. Also, you haven't mastered keeping secrets."

The man clued in and looked aghast as Sherlock put his finger over the trigger. The man closed his eyes.

Bang.


End file.
